Doing the Math
by The Mudblooded Slytherin
Summary: Predictability is so... predictable. Slash.
1. Chapter 1

Draco did the math, and it turned out to be Thursday next. Three days to clear his mind, two days to figure out what the fight was about, four days to convince himself Draco would take him back, and one to realize none of it mattered.  
He woke up on Tuesday thinking that Harry was at Hermione's, not talking to her about it.  
He poured himself a glass of scotch on Wednesday and knew that Harry was sleeping off a hangover.  
He took a bite of toast on Thursday and bet that Harry was taking a walk around London to think things over.  
He went to bed alone on Friday knowing that Harry was doing the same.  
He met his mother for tea on Saturday, wondering if Harry had fought with Hermione yet today.  
He spent Sunday through Wednesday wishing Harry wouldn't take so long.  
He stayed home on Thursday. He didn't want to miss Harry, after all.


	2. Alternate Ending I

Harry sighed as he lifted his pack and took one last look around the flat. Hermione's, he decided. She always helped him through rough times. He walked to the fireplace, avoiding the accusing stares of the photos on the mantle. Were they really accusing, or was it all in his mind? He didn't stop to find out.

Hermione left him alone. Harry didn't need to say it, she just knew (how, Harry had no idea; she was Hermione, and she knew things), and he was thankful for it. He spent the first day shut up in the guest room getting pissed. A few days later Hermione accosted him, but he managed to ward her of in favor of taking a walk. A waitress at the cafe he stopped at asked if everything was good at least six times, but he had ordered water. He didn't take the hint. When he returned, Hermione forced it out of him. When he finished explaining the fight, she had that expression on, the one that made him feel stupid. She looked at him, in other words. After an hour of telling Harry to stop being thick and go home, she had to go to work. It wasn't like she was going to put her whole life on hold just because you're being a prat again, and go and talk to him already! Harry fumed. How could she make light of this? It wasn't some little thing, Harry had left Draco, without even a note! If Hermione couldn't understand how dire this was, she just, well, she was blind. Draco would never take him back, he was much to proud. When he explained that to her later that night, she just shook her head and turned in early. It wasn't until Thursday that Harry realized that it didn't matter, that he was Harry Potter, not some snivelling girl, and damn it, but he would go home and tell Draco so. He wasn't going to give up. It didn't matter what Draco had to say, Harry was moving back in, blast it all.

"Draco? I know you're here, I can hear you sniffling," Harry called when he returned home. There were tissues lying all around the sitting room, and Draco himself was wrapped up in a quilt on the couch.

"I'b sick, okay, Podder? Do'd flatter youself."

"Only a week and already you prove you can't take care of yourself," he teased, sitting down next to the lump that was Draco.

There was a short pause. Draco sat up at looked at Harry for the first time since he'd come home, then said, "Ted days."

Harry winced. "I'm really, really sorry. I was a prick and an arse and a prat and a total idiot. Forgive me?"

Draco said nothing for a very, very long time.

"Fide."

Draco smirked as Harry tackled him back down on the couch with a huge hug and an "I love you". Harry was so predictable.


	3. Alternate Ending II

Harry sighed as he lifted his pack and took a look around the flat, making sure he brought everything he needed. Ten days was a long time.

He and Draco had got in another fight, and Harry was looking at another week at Hermione's flat. Sitting alone, getting drunk, and counting the days were not high on his list of Most Fun Ways To Spend a Week and a Half, but that couldn't be helped. He knew what Draco needed, and with that thought he hefted his pack and stepped through the Floo.

Hermione understood, barely glancing up when he stepped through the flames. Harry nodded at her, went down the left hand corridor and dropped his things down in the second room on the right. Hermione's guest bedroom. His home away from home. He sat on the bed and theorized Draco's week.

He would spend the first two days clearing his mind, the next three days trying to remember what they fought about, the four days after that wondering if Harry would ever come back, and one realizing that if he didn't, he would find him and cart his arse back home.

Those ten days passed very slowly for Harry. He tried getting pissed, he tried talking walks. He tried taking walks while getting pissed. Unluckily for Harry, however, he was a philosophical drunk, and all this time was spent thinking about Draco. Or, more specifically, wishing Draco could speed up this routine, and take five days instead of ten. Or maybe two, even. No, not two. Harry was nothing if not realistic.

Finally, finally it was Thursday. Harry re-packed, waved goodbye to Hermione, and Flooed back home. Draco was there (it was the tenth day, he'd taken off from work) and they shared a long look.

"Welcome home." Draco offered a smile.

Harry grinned in return. "It's good to be back."


End file.
